


Ritual

by draco_somnians



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Friendship, Gen, Pre - Philosopher's Stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draco_somnians/pseuds/draco_somnians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "Harry Potter, Dumbledore +/ McGonagall, meet me in the north-by-northwest travelling corridor past the false mirror. Bring cognac and crisps." from "wrabbit" on Dreamwidth's fic_promptly comm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual

The message arrives perfectly on time, as always, and Minerva smiles as she unrolls the parchment.

It’s become their tradition and it’s not precisely a secret, but she’s fairly sure nobody else knows. Every year it’s the same place, the same time and they take it in turns to choose the refreshments.

His tastes are usually sweeter and he rarely asks for alcohol.

She quickly goes to the small cupboard in the corner of her room and transfigures the bottle of pumpkin juice into cognac and the sherbet lemons into crisps. There’s no hurry; he’ll wait for her, but she’s been waiting for this all day.

As she walks down the travelling corridor, she sees him standing beyond the mirror, facing away from her, hands clasped behind his back and seemingly holding a conversation with one of the portraits. Her heels click on the flagstone floor and he turns and smiles warmly at her.

She remembers the first time she met him here - her first year at Hogwarts. She’d been so unhappy away from here, especially after Dougal. Her breath catches a little when she thinks of him, but she shakes her head firmly and pushes away all thoughts of him. Dwelling on the past isn’t going to do her any good and besides, there are bigger things afoot this year. Much bigger.

When Albus had invited her back to teach and taken her under his wing, it had felt like coming home. That first year he’d brought whisky and shortbread and she’d laughed but been quietly touched that he’d been thinking of her.

“Minerva,” he says in greeting, clasping her hands gently. He lets go and they make their way to the large windowsill where they can sit and see the longs shadows stretching over the sprawling grounds as the sun sets.

Glasses appear from somewhere as she’s distracted by the view. She takes one when Albus nudges it into her hand. They clink the glasses together and take a sip of the cognac. It tingles in her mouth and down her throat, not quite burning like firewhisky, but gently warming her right down to her belly. The north side of the castle is always chilly, even in August. The thick stone just doesn’t allow the heat through like it does on the south side, which is bathed in sunlight all day.

She reaches for the crisp packets. The rustle as she opens them sounds far too loud in the quiet castle. It’s so quiet. That will all change tomorrow when the students arrive. The first few days are always difficult to adjust to when they’ve been here all summer with just the staff, the house elves and the ghosts for company. Soon the students will settle in and things will feel normal again. She takes a crisp and feels a touch of hysteria building at the seemingly noisy crunch in her ears.

She smothers it when she notices that the headmaster isn’t sharing her mirth. He looks pensive. These little meetings of theirs tend to go one way or the other; cheerful jokes and excitement about the coming school year, or serious discussions and pep talks if they’re needed. The years during the wizarding war had been the worst. One year they’d lost so much, so many people, that they’d shared their drinks in sombre silence, both unable to do anything more than offer their presence as a comfort and a silent toast to their fallen comrades.

She regards her companion as he drinks. He’s frowning a little and staring into his glass.

“Albus?” she asks gently.

“Eleven years we’ve been waiting for this,” he says softly. “It’s a lot of pressure to put on the boy.”

She nods. “Yes it is,” she agrees. The truth is she really doesn’t know what to expect tomorrow. There’s never been any wizard as famous as Harry Potter. She wonders how he’ll cope with the attention, how the other students will react to him. They all know his name, they all know his history and yet, he knows nothing of their world. How easy will it be for him to make friends? How much of James and Lily will be evident in him? Which house will he be in?

One thing she doesn’t wonder about is if he’ll be happy here. She’s been watching him his whole life. Powerless to help him and take him away from the brutes they were forced to leave him with, she’s been counting down the days to his arrival and musing over these and other questions.

She suspects Albus Dumbledore has a few more answers about what’s to become of the boy but she won’t ask. Part of her doesn’t even want to know. She can feel that this is the start of something driven by fate. Something they have very little control over. Albus insists that You Know Who hasn’t gone forever; he’ll be back, and she knows it’s somehow all tied in to Harry Potter.

She hopes that they won’t be sitting in this spot sometime in the future once again mourning their losses.


End file.
